Put Yourself In My Hands
by MiseryLovesCompany
Summary: Spot Conlon gets himself tangled up in the affairs of a prostitute while finding out that he isn't as much of an orphan as he thought. Can he handle his newfound relatives and a girl that drives him nuts?
1. Default Chapter

**A/N – I know that I have other stories I should be working on, but I couldn't resist starting my Spot story already. I mean…lookit him.**

**Spot: puppy dog eyes**

**I just had to. Never fear, my other stories will be updated in a day or two. I promise. This fiction is loosely based on a song by The Adicts called 'Put Yourself In My Hands' which is a song I absolutely ADORE. If you love Punk music, especially old school Punk music you'll love The Adicts. I'll post bits of the lyrics with some of the chapters and then at the end, I'll put the whole song...**

**I DO NOT OWN NEWSIES OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, OR THE STORY LINE FROM THAT MOVIE. Don't sue me I don't have any dough. I also don't own Pokey she is owned by Pokey7.**

** –A/N**

            Spot perched on a crate down by the East River, silently flipping a dime with dirty, ink-stained fingers. A cool breeze ruffled his blonde hair and he lazily stretched his legs out over the edge of the dock. The wind lapped at the surface of the river, giving the brownish water a ridged appearance. It smelled rank down there today but Spot honestly didn't know what he'd do if he didn't have this river getaway. 

            His newsies were all out selling; a profitable night at Sheepshead with Racetrack had given him the extra cash to afford to miss a few days of work. He was enjoying being alone until a familiar voice called out to him. He winced, and dropped his head towards his chest. Footsteps reverberated through the wooden dock until they came to a stop right behind him. A gentle hand squeezed his thin shoulder.

            "Hey Misery," he said quietly knowing that when he turned around she'd be standing there with her son Joshua balanced on a slim hip, her usual smirk softened into something gentler. True enough, she stood shading the afternoon sun out of her eyes with one hand while clutching Joshua to herself with the other. She was clad in a crimson button-down shirt and surprisingly a long black skirt that hit her ankles where he could see dusty boots peeking out from under the hem. 

            Her auburn hair was long enough now that she tied it up in a tail that swept the middle of her back. He knew that having a child had caused her to give up some of her rough and tumble ways, but that if she were ever needed; she wouldn't hesitate to lift up her skirts and wade into a fistfight no questions asked. 

            Misery sat cross-legged next to him balancing Joshua on his tiny feet in the circle of her arms and legs. Joshua, a chubby, happy baby blew raspberries at Spot and held out two pudgy hands towards him. Spot although secretly flattered pretended to scoff before hefting the infant up into his leanly muscled arms. Joshua grabbed for his cap, but Spot jerked his head out of the way waving a teasing finger in Joshua's face. The baby drooled and gnawed on one of Spot's fingers with a mouth full of gums.

            Misery watched them both with a fond smile lighting her skinny face. Spot tried not to look at her. It still hurt him for some reason that he had managed to fall for this abrasive girl much harder than he would ever care to admit, or that she had for him in return. He knew she loved him; she loved him with most of her heart. But the part that he wanted, or thought he still wanted a one Racetrack Higgins owned. 

            "So where's Race anyway?" Racetrack had accepted a job at Sheepshead as a bookie. He wasn't dealing with respectable people, but the job paid much more than a newsie could ever dream of making and with a baby and a brand new fiancé thrown into the mix; he was becoming or at least trying to become more responsible, in his own Racetrack way. Misery smirked and struck a match on the dock, lighting a tightly rolled cigarette. 

            "Where else, at Sheepshead. Jack and Davey are actually with him, he's having a ball. I told him I was going to finish the laundry and take Joshua to see his Uncle Spot." Spot saw a shadow cross Misery's pretty face and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

            "Somethin' tells me you don't like being a housewife." Misery sighed and with her exhale of breath a wisp of bluish smoke escaped her lips. Spot gently bounced Joshua on one of his knees and unsuccessfully tried to light a cigarette of his own. Misery lit him one and he winked at her in thanks. 

            "I'm used to doing the housework from when I lived with my…brothers. But it's so BORING. I love Race to death, but once Joshua gets old enough I think I want a job." Spot snorted, and seeing the flash of anger in Misery's hazel eyes, he held up hands quickly.

            "It'll be awhile before Josh is of school age Mis, you're going to have some time to sit around and twiddle your thumbs." Misery gloomily took a drag off of her cigarette and tapped her fingers on her knee. Then she brightened up considerably.

            "Maybe I could write, you know stories. I can do that at home." Spot raised another eyebrow at her.

            "You mean like a reporter? There ain't too many women who do that Mis." She waved a hand in response.

            "No I mean like write stories, for children…err or something like that." Spot studied her for a second before handing Joshua over and standing up. Brushing off the seat of his pants he stuck his cane through a belt loop and made sure his slingshot was still in his back pocket. Holding out a hand to Misery he helped her get up.

            "That's a good idea Mis. But first things first," Misery gave him a quizzical glance to which he pointed at Joshua's saggy drawers.

            "The little stinker needs a diaper change." She grinned evilly and held him back out to Spot.

            "You sure you don't want to learn? You might need to know how to take care of kids someday." Spot backed away, his cigarette pointed up towards the sky in his right hand. Misery burst into giggles at the alarmed expression on his narrow face.

            "Spot I was only joke…"

            "I am SO outta here. Tell Race we're having a poker night tonight, ah Hell tell him to tell Jack and the rest of the boys too." Misery nodded even though Jack was no longer the leader of the Manhattan boys. He was their new house manager. Kloppman had retired to live in upstate New York with his daughter and her family. Mush and Kid Blink ran the lodging house, often times playing good cop bad cop. Pistol was the leader of the girls, now that Bourbon had come to Brooklyn to be with Riddle. 

            Spot watched Misery leave, the sun catching the ring on her hand as she waved good-bye. He felt a tightness in his chest and silently berated himself. He had to get over her; he couldn't beat himself up every time she came to visit. Shaking his head he adjusted his cap and made his way back to the lodging house. 

            It was a warm spring day and he intended to savor it, but once he reached the lodging house he ducked into the washroom. Pumping some water he splashed it over his face and scrubbed wet hands through his dirty blonde hair. It was shorter, he grinned recalling how Pistol, Riddle, Misery, and Racetrack had all sat on him while Pistol did her monthly haircutting event, including Brooklyn this time as well. 

            The face that stared back at him in the cracked mirror was lean, but had the angular cheekbones of an almost grown man. His blonde hair was parted down the middle, although it was rather messed up at the moment. Blue, blue eyes considered himself appraisingly and he wasn't disappointed with what he saw. He had grown an inch or two, and while still somewhat short for a guy his age, his once skinny body had filled out with definition. Living on the streets made for skinny builds but most of the Brooklyn boys were large height and body wise. 

            He fingered the key around his neck that he always wore on a black cord. It was an ordinary looking key, but to him it was special. It was the key to his grandparent's old apartment, the one he had snitched when she had passed away before the cops took him to an orphanage. He smiled fondly remembering the pudgy old lady who had always smelled like talcum powder and gave the best hugs ever.

            Leaving the washroom he made his way down the hallway until he came to his bedroom. Kicking the door open with a booted foot he smiled when he heard the resounding smack of the doorknob hit the opposite wall. _That was hole number five hundred_ he mused to himself as he flopped down onto his cot amongst his messy sheets. Loon's makeshift cot had finally been moved out of his room. The kid had gotten over his beating by the Finnegan brothers, now serving life without parole in Sing Sing. 

            A breeze came through his slightly open window and washed over his face. He closed his eyes and instead of getting up to enjoy the afternoon he drifted off into a deep sleep.   



	2. Chapter Two

          "What the…" Spot was woken up by a large crashing sound that echoed up the stairs from the lobby. Shooting up into a sitting position he saw that while he had slept nightfall had crept in, the breeze blowing through his window had turned cool. Fumbling around for a match, he lit the gas lamp that sat by his bedside and rubbed a hand over his face.

          His door opening and closing abruptly made him jump. Pokey stood against the door, a sheepish smile on her face. Raising an eyebrow, Spot stood up and stripped off his shirt and undershirt, replacing them with fresher ones. The Brooklyn newsies pooled together their money once a week to hire a woman to do their laundry and mend their clothing. If they didn't have the scratch, one of the newsie's girls would do it, although unwillingly.

          "What the Hell was that Pokey and what time is it?" Pokey shrugged and made a face.

          "It's around seven or so. Are you going out tonight?" When Spot nodded, Pokey smiled and as suddenly as she had entered, she exited. Spot didn't want to know what the hell she was up to, he really didn't. When he went downstairs, he stared around his lobby in disbelief. It was filled with sudsy water and bubbles.

          Pokey, Bourbon, Pistol, Loon, and a tiny Newsie by the name of Monkey stood knee deep in the mess, guilty looks on their faces. Spot let out a deep breath and put a hand over his eyes willing himself to be patient. When he dropped the hand, all five gulped nervously for his sapphire eyes were glittering with anger.

          "It's not as bad as it looks Spot," Pistol hastened to say. When he swung his glower at her, she grinned at him with a wink. Spot shook his head, and slammed his cabby hat on. Pointing at Pokey with his cane, he growled.

          "I don't want to know what happened, I don't give a shit. Just make sure this place is clean by the time I get back, you hear?" They all nodded and he stalked out of the lodging house.

          Once outside, he took a second to light up a cigarette. He cast his eyes in the direction of Harbor Street where he knew Racetrack and Misery would be at home. He contemplated stopping by there, then decided not to. They had moved to Brooklyn to be closer to Sheepshead. It was rare that he visited them at home. As much as he loved their company he felt like an intruder.

          "Hey Spot!" Hearing a familiar cry, he turned his head slightly, a smile lighting up his lean face. Riddle was running down the sidewalk to catch up with him, two other Brooklyn newsies, Pick and Lynch jogging alongside. He knew then that tonight was going to be a fun night. They were all amongst the oldest of the newsies, and the toughest. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he spat into his hand and shook with all of them.

          Pick rammed his hands into his pockets, a grin sliding easily across his face. He was tall, with red hair and blue eyes. His face was smattered with freckles and he was missing a front tooth. Pick was one of the best lock-pickers and pickpocket Brooklyn could boast of. Lynch was short and squat with blonde hair and gray eyes. He was missing an eye like Blink, but he was nowhere near as good looking as Blink could claim to be. His scar ran up past the top and bottom of his eye patch and it was puckered and dark pink.

          "What say you boys? Medda's or Molly O's?" Riddle pretended that he had to think that one over while Pick guffawed at him disbelievingly.

          "What is there to think about? I want to go to Molly O's; I need some company for the night," here he elbowed Lynch roughly; "If you know what I mean." Spot rolled his eyes and chuckled around his cigarette as they sauntered down the sidewalk towards the pub down by the docks.

          Molly O's was a popular establishment for prostitutes to drum up business. Most of the sailors and fishermen went there as well as working class chumps looking for a drink and other things. Spot and his boys were always welcome at Molly's courtesy of his being, who else Spot Conlon. He had never felt the need to spend his money on the street walking girls. Why pay for something he could get for free? More often than not, he enjoyed drinking with them and flirting. But he liked his girls willing, not paid for.

          Riddle put a hand on Spot's shoulder and waited for him to stop, Lynch and Pick continuing on. Spot looked at Riddle expectantly, the other boy's face shadowed even though the street lamps had already been lit. A horse clopped by, a man sitting on the wagon attached to it, bent slightly forward, shoulders rounded and hunched. The horse's hooves echoed in the night air.

          "A man was lookin' for yah today. Said he was related to yah. I didn't believe him though and told him I had no idea who you was and sent him on his way." Spot was curious and more than slightly alarmed. He wondered what borough was starting trouble and why. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he started walking again, Riddle at his side, their voices pitched low.

          "What did the scabbah look like?"

          "Ah y'know, he was old but not like an old man. He had your color hair and eyes, and he wasn't dressed real nice. Looked like a bum, but he had money. I saw him pull a nice lookin' watch out of his pocket at one point." Spot thought long and hard. He couldn't remember for the life of him if his father or mother had had any family here in Brooklyn besides their parents who were long dead. He assumed that it was possible he had an aunt or an uncle running around.

          "Well if they're after me for money, I sure as hell don't got any," he finally said with a laugh. It was forced, for he was worried, and he sensed that Riddle could tell that for he glanced at the Brooklyn leader for a moment before looking away, the dark hiding his facial expression.

          Spot was thankful then for the loud music and light spilling out from the open entrance to Molly O's. Shoving their way inside, they blinked to adjust their eyes to the light before sitting down at the bar next to Lynch and Pick who already had glasses of ale sitting in front of them, and girls on their laps. Both boys raised their mugs in salute to Spot who just nodded and took his cap off, placing it on the bar in front of him.

          "Spot! Welcome back me boyo!" Spot was suddenly encompassed in plump arms, his face shoved into an even plumper bosom that smelled of rosewater and cigarette smoke. When he was pulled away, he saw Molly O's smiling, chubby face beaming at him, her cheeks flushed, curly red hair all mussed up. Smoothing down his hair with a hand, he winked at the older woman who hollered for the bartender to get him a drink and keep 'em comin'.

          "Where have ye been? I was worried sick." Spot smirked slightly. He had grown up with Molly acting as a surrogate mother, providing him with food and a warm place to sleep when he needed it. She had been the one to nurse him when he was sick and to teach him how to survive the streets, along with Sneak, the old Brooklyn leader.

          He chatted with Molly for a bit longer until she flew away in a flurry of emerald skirts and red hair to berate a prostitute for trying to pick a man's pocket. He swore that Molly had eyes in the back of her head; she saw all and knew all. It wasn't long before he felt the familiar pressure of someone pressing up against him. Tilting his head and glancing over, he saw a short girl with masses of brown hair falling down her back. Cool gray eyes studied him and apparently found him to measure up for the girl flashed him a wicked smile.

          "You interested in some company?" Spot felt a slow smile spread across his face. The girl was obviously new in town or else she wouldn't have wasted her time on him. She wore an ugly brown dress with a low neckline that revealed she was definitely feminine and not lacking in womanly attributes. Lighting up a cigarette he blew smoke just past her face and raised his eyebrows at her.

          "You offerin' doll?" She quirked an eyebrow at him and took a seat on the stool next to him. Ordering a whiskey, she slapped the coins down onto the counter and cocked her head, a lock of hair falling against one rosy cheek.

          "Yeah if you're paying." Spot burst into laughter, smoke pouring out of his nostrils. When he calmed down, wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes, he saw her still watching him, sipping calmly at her drink. Taking a deep drag off of his smoke, he shook his head.

          "Sorry honey, I don't pay for something I can get for free."

          "Oh is that right?"

          "Yeah that's right."

          Blue eyes met gray and neither said anything for a few moments. The girl, although looking unwilling to admit defeat, downed the rest of her whiskey, made a face and without a backward glance swaggered off to another man sitting with a few companions at a table.

          Spot watched her go, admiring her figure and attitude before forgetting all about her and focusing on the drink at hand. It wasn't until later, when he and his boys stumbled out of Molly O's to head back to the lodging house that he ran into her again.

          "I said, where's my damn money?" A slap resounded in the night air, almost drowned out by the music and noise still emanating from inside the bar. Spot wouldn't have heard it, if he hadn't fallen slightly behind the others to light up yet another cigarette. The whimper of pain and hissed breath made his head swivel and eyes narrow.

          Stepping into the alleyway where he had heard the voices coming from, he saw a man standing over a crumpled figure laying on the dirty ground. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms with fists the size of cannon balls. He was trying to get the person on the ground to stand up, and he threatened them with a constant flow of curses that didn't stop even when Spot cleared his throat.

          "Is there something wrong?" The man shot a murderous glance in Spot's direction, before sneering at him.

          "Get out of here boy before I REALLY loose my temper." Spot smirked and hefted his cane into one hand.

          "Do you know who I am?" The man spat onto the ground near Spot's feet, and Spot curled his lip at the gob of spittle.

          "No, nor do I give a shit kid. Get out of here before I beat your ass when I'm done beating hers." Spot smiled gleefully and for an instant the man was taken aback.

          "That's all I wanted to know," Spot said before leaping forward, and with a solid blow to the man's head, knocked him out on the spot. The man dropped like a stone to the ground, collapsing near the girl, who was hurriedly standing up.

          Whirling around to face Spot, he recognized the girl from the pub earlier. Fury was alight in her eyes, and she let out a cry of anger before trying to rouse the fallen man.

          "What did you do that for?" she screamed at Spot. Spot was slightly pissed off and slightly incredulous at the same time. Was this broad for real? He had just saved her from getting smacked around and she was acting all ungrateful. He said as much to her and she laughed bitterly.

          "You just knocked out my pimp, tough guy thanks a lot. Now I'll have nobody looking out for me. Yeah he hit me, but at least he made sure the customers behaved themselves. Thanks, thanks SO much." With that, she swept by him, breaking into a run when he made as if to stop her.

          Groggily stuffing his hands into his pockets, he shook his head warily and headed towards the lodging house. Crazy broad, crazy town. Even though he had slept away most of the afternoon after work, he was suddenly exhausted. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep. Catching up to where Riddle had waited for him, they walked back to the lodging house in silence. Spot knew Riddle wanted to know what had happened, but he brushed it off and went upstairs, not stopping until his head hit his pillow and he instantly succumbed to sleep.

**A/N – Boy I need to stop ending my chapters with Spot going to sleep. I promise I won't do it in Chapter three…**

**Spot - snores**

**Shout Outs!!**

**My dog ate my penname**** – Any review is good, I don't care if they're short!**

**Spot: Woo I got glomped!  ::shakes his butt::**

**NaughteeLady**** – Nope that wasn't it. There's more!**

**Cici**** – Nah I don't know if they had Sing Sing back then. I'm assuming they did because it's an old prison and if I'm right, a lot of the gangsters from the 1920's ended up there so maybe if it wasn't around then it will be soon. I'm glad you like it thank you! :D**

**Kays14**** – I know it was all I could do to not have him end up with Misery, but I had made Racetrack so right for her too that I just did it that way. Yes Spot ends up with someone else. I suck. ::cries:: Yeah it's where 'Under my Thumb' left off, so it's sort of a sequel…**

**Spot: There, there. You calm down and concentrate on writin' about when I get some, I mean end up with someone…::evil grin::**

**JamieBell**** – I'm reading those other fanfics of yours and enjoying them, thanks for pointing them out. Hahaha…Spot sounds like a girl in Spanish!! :D**

**I honestly have no idea how I can come up with so many story lines. I think I just go through a bunch of fics and try to come up with a story plot that hasn't been done yet which leaves me with all the weird stories I write. **

**Nada Zimri**** – Hehe..I'm psychic. No I'm not really but wouldn't that be creepy/cool? I had to write my Spot story, he's just...so…Spot. Muahaha…Unky Spot. ::pinches Spot's cheeks::**

**Emotions**** – Yep it starts where 'Under My Thumb' left off so it IS a sequel to that story sort of. Yes Spot is heartbroken, but he won't be that way for long. He IS Spot Conlon after all. **

**Spot: ::winks at Emotions:: You got a tub with hot water? I might just take up on that offer….::leer::**

**Now now Spot…behave. I'm glad you like it and I'm updating more often hopefully!**

**Spot: Behave…boooo….borin'. **


	3. Chapter Three

A/N – I don't own Pokey, she is owned by Pokey7, nor do I own Spitball she is owned by My Dog Ate My Penname. Man I'm starting to lose track of what stories I told people I'd use their characters in. Eep. If I told you I would use you in this one and I haven't, let me know! 

            When Spot woke up the next morning he had a pounding headache. Groggily sitting up in bed, the sheet he was tangled in slid off of his bare chest. Moaning and holding his head in between his hands he fumbled about for his pants lying on the floor. Bending over and then standing up didn't improve the way he felt at all. Putting his pants on awkwardly he slung the suspenders over his shoulders and shuffled out of his bedroom and down the hall.

            Their lodging house manager, O'Malley was still in bed. Spot shook his head and taking a deep breath began hollering for the slumbering Brooklyn newsies to get up. More than one woke up the same way he had, groaning with pain and stumbling about. Spot poked a sleep-walking Pokey on the shoulder as she shuffled by and the girl blearily stuck her tongue out at him.

            Monkey, a tiny newsie about six years old trooped by with his short brown hair sticking up all over his head like a porcupine. He had his lower lip stuck out and his suspenders were hanging down at his sides causing his trousers to droop so that he had to perform an odd little walk, one hand holding up each pant-leg, a step-pull-step-pull dance. Spot rolled his eyes and grinned broadly at the little boy as he determinedly continued on towards the washroom, pestering Pokey to help him get dressed.

            Pokey was the surrogate Brooklyn mother, she did her best to take care of the wayward Brooklyn newsies, but she often had to go stay in Manhattan to get away from them. Plus, the fact that she was seeing Jack Kelly didn't hurt either. Spot lifted a foot and nudged at the sleeping form of Riddle. Riddle moaned in his sleep and swatted at Spot. Spot shoved him a little harder, and Riddle rolled off of his bunk and fell onto the floor.

            Shooting up and slamming his hands down onto his messed up bunk, he wildly looked around his black hair sticking up, brown eyes blood shot, while Spot snickered into one of his dirty hands. Seeing that it was just Spot, he rolled his eyes and laid his head down onto his mattress, taking a few deep breaths before lifting his head again and blinking.

            "God I wish I was dead, my head is killing me."

            "You shouldn't drink so much then," his girl Bourbon replied as she walked by, hair neatly combed and clothing already in place. Riddle shot her a venomous look which Spot echoed before smirking at her.

            "You should talk; you're nicknamed after the stuff." Bourbon smiled sweetly and gave him the finger before sauntering off out of the bunkroom. Spot shook his head which elicited an agonized groan from him when a jab of pain shot through his temple. Muttering under his breath he decided it was wise to finish his own morning routine, and ducking into the washroom elbowed some of his fellow newsies aside and splashed water onto his face and head.

            Drying himself off with a rather haggard looking towel, he made a mental note to visit Old Mildred and see if she would do some laundry for them later. Heading back into his room he threw his suspenders off and pulled on an undershirt that lay over the back of a rickety chair. After that he pulled on the same dark blue shirt he had been wearing yesterday and rolling the sleeves up, only buttoned the front half way.

            Leaving his suspenders dangling down by his sides he tucked his slingshot in his back pocket and his cane into one of his belt loops. Completing his attire with his gray cabby hat, he thundered down the stairway and out the front door, putting his fingers into his mouth he let out a piercing whistle. The response was immediate and automatic. Newsies began pouring out of the lodging house, and he counted them off as they walked, trotted, jumped, or dragged themselves out the door.

            Living in Brooklyn was different than in Manhattan. The newsies here didn't dance and sing on their way to the distribution center. They stalked along, eyes always searching for trouble, or stumbled, bleary from last night's entertainment. Monkey had clambered up onto Pokey's back and the sleepy girl was doing her best to keep him perched there as he chattered away animatedly.

            Finally feeling sorry for Pokey, he swept Monkey off of her back and holding the boy in the crook of his arm, swung him along, the little boy laughing merrily. Spot wasn't above playing with the littlest boys every now and again but he was definitely not going to give the boy a piggy back ride. With a gentle admonishment that Pokey was tired and for him to leave her alone, Monkey ran off to pester Loon, another younger newsie with blonde hair and tired gray eyes.

            "Thanks Spot," Pokey said, arching her back and grimacing. The mattresses they used were lumpy and thin, and it was rough sleeping on them unless you were dead tired. Spot shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant manner and they continued walking. The rest of the morning passed by with no incident, although Spot began to feel like he was being watched.

            For the third time that morning he ducked into an alleyway and scanned the street beyond with sharp, blue eyes. Disgusted with himself when he detected nothing out of the ordinary he reappeared and went on his way down towards the waterfront and the tenement where Old Mildred lived.  

            A few old women sat outside on the front stoop, stripping peas out of their pods and gossiping. They fell silent as Spot swaggered up, then continued talking in a flowing chatter of what Spot thought was French as he trotted up the stairs and into the building. Old Mildred lived on the first floor, and he knocked on her door. He was surprised when the door swung open after only a few seconds, it usually took Mildred a few minutes to shuffle to the door from her rocking chair.

            He was even more surprised to see the whore from the night before standing in the doorway, one hand perched on her hip, the other holding the door open. A glare spread onto her face, and she went to slam the door, but Spot stuck his cane in the way.

            "You! What are YOU doing here?" The girl snarled nastily at him, her cheeks turning crimson, and eyes narrowing. Spot felt his own temper rise and sneered at her.

            "I'm here to see Mildred, what are YOU doing here?"

            "She's my grandmother what's it to ya?"

            "Megan who's at the door?" The girl flinched and turned to look behind her where Mildred sat in her rocking chair, a pile of mending in her lap.

            "Some boy who says he came here to see you."

            "Gabriel is that you?" Spot's shoulders hunched up involuntarily at the use of his real name. Nobody called him that, but Mildred had been friends with his beloved grandmother before she died and he was nothing but Gabriel to her.

            "Yeah Millie, it's me. Can I come in?" When she voiced her assent, he smirked victoriously at Megan and shoved his way past her into Mildred's apartment. The air was slightly stale and reeked like corned beef and cabbage. Spot felt his stomach growl and he put a hand over it self-consciously. Making his way over to where the old lady rocked back and forth, he kissed her proffered wrinkled cheek.

            Mildred was a small lady with soft curly white hair that she wore in a braid wound around her head like a crown. Spectacles perched precariously on the tip of her nose and her fingers deftly poked a needle in and out of the clothing she was patching at a rapid pace. She wore a dress and shawl that had seen better days, and smoked a pipe.

            "How have you been Gabriel? Megan go get him a plate of corned beef and one of those rolls. I think we still have some potatoes as well." Spot held up his hands and tried to tell her that he wasn't hungry, but the loud growl of his stomach made Mildred smile knowingly.

            "You're a growing young man, you're always hungry." Megan stomped into the kitchen and Spot could hear her slamming things around until Mildred mildly told her to stop. Spot wondered if she knew about Megan's evening job and stopped himself from leering when she said that Megan was grouchy after working in a kitchen washing dishes at night.

            The girl came out, and thrust a plate underneath Spot's nose, followed by a fork and knife that he almost had to dodge. Grimly eyeing her to make sure she wasn't trying to stab him to death with kitchen utensils, he tucked into the food, cleaning his plate in less than ten minutes. Mildred shook her head, and asked him when the last time he had eaten was. Spot shrugged, lit a cigarette and said that he thought it had been a few days ago.

            "So what can I do for you Gabriel? More laundry or are you actually paying me a visit without an ulterior motive?" Spot gave her a sheepish grin and felt his cheeks flushing slightly. Mildred was like that, she could see through him like he was made of glass.

            "You guessed it Millie. Same price as last time?" When she nodded, he counted out a handful of pennies and handed them over, promising to bring the laundry by later that afternoon. He visited with Mildred for a little while longer, ignoring the pointed looks that Megan shot at him. When he finally got up to leave, he was rewarded by hearing Mildred tell Megan that she would need her help with the newsie's laundry.

            The girl immediately erupted into a loud string of curses and stomped out of the room. Spot winked at Mildred and collected his hat and cane.

            "That girl sure has a temper," he said off-handedly. Mildred snorted and gave him her own wink.

            "You don't know the half of it. Do me a favor and bring me a paper when you come by later." Spot promised that he would, and started his walk back to the lodging house. This time when he felt like someone was watching him, he ignored it for a while until the feeling got unbearable and he swung around just in time to see a figure duck down an alleyway. Frowning and gripping his cane tightly in his fist, he muttered a swear and continued on his way.

            When he reached the lodging house, he saw a group of Manhattan newsies sitting on the front steps. Blink and Mush spit-shook with him, and he found himself smiling at Pistol as she swaggered up, chest puffed out and hocked a huge wad of spit into her little hand. Making a face, he shoved her gently when she stuck the hand into his face and waved it around.

            "Shake my hand!" she hollered until he took her hand and swiftly wiped it onto her cheek. A look of utter disgust passed across her face and she immediately began leaping around squealing in horror. Les and Snipeshooter were chasing after Loon and Monkey, and Spot was taken aback to see David there.

            "Heya Mouth what's shakin'?" David shrugged and nodded at Spot. He was back in school now that his father's arm had healed. He sold papers every once in awhile, but it was rare that the newsies saw him on a regular basis.

            "So you fellas have something on your minds or is this just a courtesy call?" Spot kept a slightly watchful eye on Monkey and Loon as they darted off the sidewalk and into the street. He didn't take his leadership lightly.

            "Just a courtesy call, Pistol was bored and managed to talk us into coming to Brooklyn." Blink's voice was full of laughter, but his eyes were veiled as he glanced over at Pistol swiftly. Spot rolled his eyes and grinned. The two were mad for each other but neither one wanted to do anything about it.

            "Plus we're going to go annoy Misery'n'Race," Pistol piped up as she methodically wiped her face off onto her sleeve. Spot felt his chest give a funny little leap and he scowled. Pistol calmly looked at him and he shook his head at her.

            "You wanna come?" was all she asked her voice even. Spot growled a 'No' at her and then softened his tone before adding that he had to take the Brooklyn newsie's wash over to Mildred. Pistol cracked a wide grin and asked him if she had been smoking her pipe. When he nodded, she giggled. Pistol liked Mildred very much, and the feeling was mutual. Before the Manhattan kids headed over to Racetrack's, Pistol lightly placed a hand on Spot's shoulder and told him softly that he should come over if he had the time.

            "Maybe," was all he said before turning away and going inside the lodging house after calling Monkey and Loon to him. Flopping down at the table in the lobby, he joined a spirited card game between Lynch, Pick, Riddle, and two other Brooklyn newsies Squat and Pigeon. After winning a few dollars each from the other boys, he grabbed Pigeon's pocket watch and glanced at it.

            Seeing that it was time to go back to Mildred's he hollered for anyone who was there and had dirty clothes to put it into the two laundry sacks that hung in the washroom. Pointing at Pigeon and Lynch he told them that they were going to help him take the clothes to Mildred's. They nodded, and although they looked like they'd rather be doing something else, they didn't say a word.

            Spot smirked and sent them up to collect the sacks. He knew Pokey would have gone into his room and grabbed some of his clothes; she was one of the few he allowed to go into his room unattended. When Lynch and Pigeon came back downstairs, each with a sack over their shoulder, both bags bulging with clothing and towels, he rose from the table, pocketed his winnings and leaving Riddle in charge, headed back to Old Mildred's.

A/N – I'm sorry if this chapter seemed sort of boring, but things will begin picking up in the next one, I promise. This was sort of a filler chapter. Err..yeah I know I suck, haha…

**SHOUT OUTS!**

**BrkLnLady – Hiya and thank you for reviewing!**

**Kays14 – I know they could have been something huh? sighs too Spot is my favorite newsie too and I modeled Misery after me so I don't know why she ended up with Race. Race is my other favorite and I think I just had to have her and Race end up together after awhile. **

**JamieBell – I know what you mean, I just think that with all the arrogance that Spot has in the movie that he would seem like the type to also be a ladies man. He just had that attitude to him or at least that's what I think. I think that since they did so little with him in the movie that leaves it open to make his character however you want it to be. I pretty much model him after one of my old best friend's when I write his character. A jerk, but with feelings who isn't really a bad kid deep down although he acts like a perfect hooligan all the time.**

**xxIrish**** Roverxx –- ::mysterious look:: Ya never know, ya never know ;D**

**Nada Zimri – ::hauls out her crystal ball:: I see…glass…and a reflection of a person…oh wait..that's just me. ::tosses crystal ball:: The world may never know what those girls were up to but chances are it was nothing good. ;D**


	4. Chapter Four

            Megan irritably tossed a shirt into a washtub full of dirty sudsy water and wrung it out violently. A smile curved her lips upwards slightly as she imagined that she was choking that vile Conlon boy. Gathering up an armload of sodden clothing, she hefted it out the back door into the narrow yard where she had strung up the rest of the clothing on a clothesline.

            Conlon had shown up with two of his henchmen and her grandmother had sent her into the kitchen to begin the wash while she talked to the boys. Muttering underneath her breath, she heard a sudden yowl and looked down to see that she had stepped on the tail of a tiny kitten. Dropping the clothes into a basket underneath the line, she gathered the bundle of fur up into her hands and stroked it softly.

            "I'm sorry baby, don't cry, I didn't mean to." The kitten mewed piteously and Megan felt a tug at her heartstrings as she used a dirty finger to nudge around the kitten's ears and nose. It was a ball of gray fluff that matched her eyes, with a blaze of white on its chest. Its eyes were a deep green and it kneaded her hand while setting up a rumbling purr that was rather loud for such a small package.

            Megan gave a true smile this time, her face softening as she cradled the baby cat to her chest and cooed to it. A faint cough and chuckle brought her head snapping around, and she held the kitten firmly to her chest as her eyes met Spot Conlon's. He stood leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his sallow face.

            Most of the street kids were covered in such a layer of grime that they all looked pale and had a yellowish tinge to their skin from soot and factory air. Spot, like most of the newsies had skin more tan in color than any of the other children in their various occupations; he was one of the lucky and unlucky few who spent his days outside.

            "What are you looking at?" Megan snapped, tensing. Spot shrugged, before lighting a cigarette and motioning towards the kitten.

            "I didn't think you had it in you, y'know to be nice to anything." Megan sneered, and would have put the kitten down if it hadn't attached itself firmly to the front of her dress, cradled in the crook of her arm. She looked down at it, and it blinked up at her almost trustingly. Megan decided right then and there to keep it.

            "Well I can, not that it should make a difference to you." Megan's face flushed when he laughed; smoke trailing out of his mouth and nose. His blue eyes were brilliant in his smudged face and he had such a cocky, sure way about him.

            "What'd I ever do to you? As far as I can recall, all I did was save you from some bastard that was beatin' up on ya." Megan rolled her eyes and snorted. Trevor had been one of the least violent out of any of her pimps. Streetwalking was a vile profession; she hated it with all her heart. Honestly she never would have started if she hadn't been taken under the wing of her friend Joanna Shaw who had managed to convince her that it was where the easy money was to be found. Beguiled by Joanna and her lover/pimp Morgan Ripley and all the money that Joanna made, she failed to notice that Joanna had been in the game long enough to have risen to the status of a 'consort'. Her job was to look pretty on the arms of wealthy men and she had the choice at this point in time how her nights with the gentlemen went.

            It took a long time and a lot of hard work to get to Joanna's stage. Megan worked for a madam out of Harlem who owned a nightclub. They called her Gypsy Anne, or just Gypsy but Megan knew her as Annabelle Winters. Trevor worked for Gypsy and had complained about getting beaten up although he had changed his version of the story to include at least two-score men all armed with clubs. Megan hadn't been assigned another personal 'body guard' to ensure her safety and that she didn't take home any extra money. In truth, Megan would have leapt for the chance to do something else but she was deeply indebted to the Gypsy for various reasons mainly money wise.

            The Gypsy had also provided doctors when Megan's grandmother turned ill, and made sure that the old woman's apartment was paid for if Megan didn't make the money. It was all part of the trade, to ensure that Megan relied on the Gypsy's kindness and charity so that she wouldn't think of turning anywhere else. Fear played a large part of it as well. Megan shuddered as she recalled a time she had tried to leave New York City and being met at the train station by two of Gypsy's men. They hadn't been kind with her and she still tended to limp sometimes when the weather turned suddenly.

            Fingers snapping in front of her face brought her out of her thoughts. Glowering up at Spot, she set the kitten gently down, after rubbing its head one more time. The kitten chirped at her briefly before curling up in a patch of sunlight by her feet as she began hanging the wet laundry, snapping it out and then clipping it to the clothesline. Spot sat on a crate, putting his feet straight out in front of himself, watching Megan as she worked studiously, humming a faint tune to herself.

            Megan was rather bothered by the fact that this annoying boy was sitting out there with her, watching her. She hated to be watched. Honestly, she had been grateful when he had hurt Trevor for hurting her, but it hadn't been any of his damn business. Gypsy had docked her pay for the doctor's bills to make sure Trevor hadn't been injured seriously and she wasn't grateful for THAT.

            "Oh Megan, I didn't mean for you to do ALL of the laundry yourself." Megan looked over to the doorway, clothes pins sticking out of her mouth to see her grandmother leaning against the doorjamb as if for support, the sunlight making her face seem even more wrinkled and worn that it was. Megan frowned for as much as she resented her grandmother for making her do such work; she loved her dearly and didn't want her getting ill again.

            "Don't worry Gram, it was nothing. I don't know why these hooligans don't find someone younger to do their chores for them, or learn how themselves." Spot's eyes crinkled slightly and she realized that the kitten had ambled lazily over and leapt up onto his lap, settling itself with a contented yawn.

            "Seems like I just did find someone younger." Megan growled in her throat and threw a clothespin at him, which bounced harmlessly off of his forehead but made his eyes snap suddenly in anger. Megan was taken aback to see the instant change, and her eyes widened fearfully. Spot noticed the fear and took a calming breath.

            "Relax," he growled gruffly. He was making headway with the difficult girl the last thing he needed was her to tuck tail and run. He had no respect for women who sold their bodies for money. His mother had worked in a factory as had his aunts. He cocked a thoughtful eyebrow and cast his thoughts back towards whomever it was who was following him around. Could it be one of his aunts? He had forgotten about them, in truth they had moved to New Jersey and he had had no desire to live there when his grandmother died.

            Megan's grandmother disappeared back into the kitchen muttering something about soup, and Pigeon and Lynch appeared. Pigeon, named for the way his toes turned slightly in giving him an odd gait to his walk, smirked and leered at the sight of Megan. Megan flushed and turned her head away, hiding her face in the curtain of her brown hair. Pigeon was a regular at the brothel she worked at, and although she had never had the 'pleasure' he knew her face well. Spot noticed her discomfort and his lips thinned, brows drawing down.

              
            "We're going to head back boss," Lynch said lighting a cigar. Spot nodded absently and they left, after Pigeon blew a kiss in Megan's direction and made an obscene gesture. Megan finished hanging up the sodden clothing and stood stiffly, arms clasped around her middle, head hung.

            "If you don't like it why do you do it?" Spot's quiet question made her head jerk up and he was taken aback to see tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

            "You think it's so easy to get a job don't you, your Majesty? The 'King of Brooklyn';" she scoffed heatedly.

            "I tried to get jobs, nobody would hire me. Said I didn't have enough experience or they could hire someone to do it cheaper. So my friend told me about a woman who could help me, all I'd have to do is lay on my back a few times a night. Easy right?" Spot didn't wince at her crudeness. He was paying more attention to the shaking sound of her voice. She was going to lose her cool, and lose it rather fast.

            'I don't know if you've looked around you lately and actually SEEN some of the people who live in Brooklyn but we don't have it easy. And us newsies don't have it any easier than you do by a long shot. I got where I am from scratching my way to the top and making numerous enemies along the way. Don't presume that I've had an easy life until you know me."

            Megan's eyes were red-rimmed and she snorted rather unbecomingly, twisting a shank of her hair and shoving it behind one of her ears. Sniffing loudly, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and gave him a sullen look. Spot decided that he had had enough and setting the kitten onto the ground, he rose and stretched.

            "I'll be back tomorrow to get those clothes from you. Thank you for doing them, I know it ain't fun." Megan snorted again and looked away. Spot didn't often thank people, and for some odd reason it seemed Megan sensed this for she quirked the corner of her mouth up into a tiny smile of acknowledgement. Spot was blown away by the difference in her features that the tiny gesture made.

            Spot shook his head and muttered something about 'crazy broads' before leaving. Honestly after all the trouble he had had with Misery he just didn't relish any other difficult female characters in his life. Not that he regretted Misery in the slightest. He would do it all over again and lose her just to have had a chance to know her. A sudden resolve made him turn down a street towards the tenement where he knew Racetrack and Misery lived. It was time to get over this nonsense and be able to have them both in his life again. He didn't have many that he actually called a friend and it took a toll on him. He needed to keep as many of those people as he had close by.

            As he strolled down the sidewalk, twirling his cane, he once again got the feeling that someone was following him. He ignored it this time, waiting for the right moment. He felt someone brush past him, fingers slipping into one of his pockets. He struck like a viper, grabbing their hand and throwing them up against a wall right inside a nearby alleyway.

            At first glance he thought he held a girl up against the bricks, the features were so fine. But the short figure was definitely a boy and there was no long hair tucked up underneath the cap he wore askew. Spot was slightly taken aback to see his eyes glaring up at him and the coolness of his smirk directed at him from a stranger's face.

            "Who are you?" he rasped out gruffly. The boy struggled then collapsed back against the wall in sullen silence. Spot shook him harder, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the front of the boy's threadbare brown shirt.

            "Why are you following me? Do you know who I am?" At this the boy snorted and Spot knew that the boy had an idea of who he was. They started at each other for what seemed like forever before Spot let the boy go. The boy darted off, but not before Spot told him in a menacing voice that this was far from over.

            In a slight daze, he continued his walk towards Misery and Race's place his mind in a whirl. Who was that boy? Why did he look alarmingly like he could be Spot's younger brother? Spot shook his head and felt an unsettling weight rest on his shoulders. He didn't like surprises. And he'd be damned if he didn't find out what this was all about. And he vowed he'd do it soon.

Shout Outs!

**Smiley Cad – Nah, Riddle can go to bars, Bourbon trusts him. He only has eyes for her. But yes he shouldn't drink so much. I don't like Megan's job either but that's part of the story. Neither her or Spot like it either. I'd definitely be paranoid if someone was following me around, but Spot will solve it. **

**Spot: Yah darn tootin' I will. ::crosses arms and nods::**

**Now now Spot it's not nice to want to be up Smiley.**

**Spot: ::hangs head::**

**Yeah I wanted to use old characters in this story and others because I liked some of them so much.**

**Nada Zimri – Yes Monkey is adorable. He's fashioned after a little boy I used to know who reminded me of a monkey and was hysterical with laughter every time I tried to put him into trash cans. Yep that spit was description was meant to be gross. ::wink::**

**Just Duck – Yes I agree I figured Race was a better fit with  Misery too. I've been wicked busy too hence why it took me so long to update this. Fonzie is an awesome name for a dog.**

**That cracked me the hell up…envisioning Spot doing the Tim Taylor laugh in his head at Millie's news. ::snicker:: I don't mind doing laundry but there's other chores I definitely curse doing. And yeah I know I had him falling asleep to end chapters a bit too much.. :X**

**Iaintgottaname**** – Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked it, thank again. **

**The Girl That Never Was – Hahaha…yeah I know I had Spot falling asleep a tad too much. ;D**

**Emotions – Ewww homework sucks. Don't worry I'd just be happy if you reviewed my story at all, doesn't matter how often. You could be right about the love interest….**

**Spot: ::perks up:: I get a lady?**

**Oh lord…**

**Kays14 – Honestly it was rather hard for me to decide who Misery should end up, which is probably why that story was so long! In the beginning I had initially had her going to end up with Spot, but then partway through I began making her compatible with Racetrack as well. Trust me it was a bit of a dilemma. **

**Jamie Bell – Hah I'm intrigued as how it's going to work out too. I plan on having it start to move along, I'm afraid this is another filler chapter. Curse me straight to hell. :D**


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